


Sleep...perchance to dream

by redtoes



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, five things, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoes/pseuds/redtoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Felicity slept with Oliver. Or rather, five times Felicity fell asleep around Oliver and he had to take care of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Servers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecoolcheryl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoolcheryl/gifts).



> Comment prompt from thecoolcheryl

The first time she falls asleep in Verdant’s basement he doesn't notice right away.

It’s late.

He’s waiting for her to pull the information he needs off of an encrypted pen drive and breaking through this particular security software has taken longer than both of them expected.

It’s almost three and she’s been working on it since she arrived just after six.

He was hovering, but that distracted her, so after a while he and Diggle moved to the training mats and when Diggle called it a night shortly before two, Oliver turned to target practice in order to maintain his aim.

It’s only when he hears the soft beeping coming from the computer that he turns.

Felicity has her head down, pillowed on her arms, eyes closed.

And she must be asleep because the computer screen above her is saying the encryption is broken and generally right now she’d be punching the air and babbling away about her triumph.

But she’s not.

Instead she’s unconscious.

He puts the bow down and crosses the room.

In her sleep she looks young. Her glasses have been knocked off centre by the way her head is lying and a few stray curls have come loose.

One lock of hair lies over her mouth and nose and shifts in the breeze of her breath.

It feels like it would be wrong to wake her, but he can't just leave her here.

He needs the intel and she has work in the morning. She won't thank him for letting her rest.

So gently he puts his hand on her back.

“Felicity?”

She stirs and he squeezes her shoulder through the thin material of the cardigan she’s wearing. 

“Felicity, wake up.”

Nothing.

She really is out for the count.

He considers.

“Felcity,” he says, “the server is crashing.”

Her eyes blink open and stare at him.

“Wuh? What? Which server?”

She blinks at him, pushing her glasses up to rub sleep from her eyes.

“The server’s fine,” he says, “you were asleep.”

“And you woke me with ’the server is crashing’?” She says, “are you trying to give me a heart attack?” But her tone is light, almost embarrassed and he can't help but smile at how flustered she is.

“For Thea I use shoe sales,” he admits, “I wasn't sure what would work on you.”

“’The new season of Game of Thrones is on?’” She suggests, “Or, ’Microsoft have just patched that damn bug in Windows 8 that you hate’?”

“I’ll try those next time.”

“Or really just ’wake up’ would probably work.”

“It didn't. I tried that first.”

“Oh,” Felicity says, “huh.”

“Your decryption programme worked,” he says, gesturing at the screens behind her.

“Oh,” she says, “yay.” She does a much smaller, tireder version of her usual jubilant fist pump. “What time is it?”

“Three.”

“Oh well,” she says, “I guess that’s all the sleep I’m getting tonight. And tomorrow is system upgrade day at work too. Seven AM start. I'm going to need a coffee IV.”

“Go home,” Oliver says. “This can wait.”

“That's not what you said earlier,” she says, her hands already flying over the keyboard.

“You’re no use to anyone if you’re too tired to type.”

“And here I thought it was concern for my welfare,” she says sardonically. 

“It is,” he says, dropping one hand to squeeze her shoulder in friendly way. “This’ll keep. Go home.”

“You don't have to tell me twice,” she says, standing up, “except that in fact it turns out you do. But you don't have to tell me three times.”

“Okay,” he says and turns away.

“You're not leaving?” She asks as she slips on her jacket.

“I don't have a day job that starts in four hours.”

“No, you don't,” she sighs. “Good night Oliver. Don’t stay up all night.”

“Good night Felicity.”

And he goes back to his target practice and doesn't think much about it.


	2. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one got angsty. Set post season one and heavily influenced by the post season one comic....
> 
> I know I haven't updated this for a while, so I hope someone out there still wants to read it...

After the Glades fell he didn't leave right away, as much as he wanted to. There was time for Tommy to be buried, Oliver and Thea standing among a too small crowd of mourners, all of whom visibly flinched every time Laurel let out another loud whole-body-shaking sob. She had her father with her, and Oliver was determined to try and talk to her again after the ceremony. Somewhere more private. Her place maybe, if she'd let him in this time.

Thea was mostly silent, which Oliver appreciated. He was having a hard enough time holding himself together in the face of Laurel’s grief - if Thea cracked too he knew he was lost.

When newly-demoted-no-longer-Detective Lance turned him away from Laurel’s apartment, he knew within hours that he’d be on the other side of the world.

What was there to stay for, really?

He already arranged the transfers of the money for Diggle and Felicity, but couldn't resist taking one last drive around his city before he left it for good.

Ever since his return from the island he’d preferred the freedom of the motorbike to the cage of a car. But he could see there were appearances to keep up - Oliver Queen should have a driver, a presence, should be noticed. Under the helmet he felt anonymous, separated from the pressure of his family name and all the baggage that came with it. 

He had known he was leaving since the quake, but the destination only came to him as he navigated the bike through the darkened streets. 

It wasn't late but the roads were empty. It was as if the entire city was in mourning for the Glades. Oliver knew how it felt.

But his emotions ran deeper than regret and loss, there was also a penance that must be paid. A debt to be worked off. And there was only one place he knew for that.

Lian Yu.

Oliver was so intent on his final destination that he didn't notice his immediate one. It was only when he found himself pulling the bike over to the side of the road and turning off the engine out of habit that he realised where he was.

Outside Felicity’s apartment building.

She hadn't officially ever invited him over or even told him where she lived, but he'd spent some time observing her both before and after the reveal of his identity, and the street was now a familiar one. His training and experiences had insisted on making sure he could trust her, something he had already known in his heart and his observation of her had proved his instincts hadn't led him wrong.

There was an easily accessible fire escape he knew of. A route that took him to a good vantage point on her window. And suddenly, as much as he wanted to be on a plane, flying in search of redemption, he was off the bike and heading for the conveniently placed dumpster in order to grab the metal rung and lever himself up.

Diggle was a soldier, and he had Carly and AJ. He would be angry but ultimately fine. Laurel had her father and had survived heartbreak before. Thea had her boyfriend and a concerned Walter within reach. But who did Felicity have?

He answer became clear as he reached the right height to peer through her window into the darkened apartment.

Felicity had no one.

She lay on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, balled up tissues scattered across the carpet around her. There was an empty wine bottle on the coffee table and her closed eyes looked puffy from crying. The blue flicker of a television screen illuminated her features but it was clear she’d been asleep for ages, passed out from grief or alcohol or some combination of the two.

Oliver didn't think.

One second he was the feet away, the next he was inside the room. Felicity’s heartbreak was palpable to him, an echo of his own and even if he was leaving tonight, he couldn't leave her lying like this.

She murmured softly as he picked her up, feeling too light and insubstantial in his arms. Had she lost weight? She didn't have much to lose to begin with and any weight loss to her slim frame could impact her health dramatically. Oliver tried to think of her last time he saw her eat, but nothing came to mind since before the night of the earthquake. 

He walked though her apartment, Felicity in his arms, until he came to her bedroom. It wasn't a large home, but for some reason the walk felt longer than he knew it must be. In their shared grief the rooms seemed larger, darker, less welcoming. He knew in the light there would be color and life, but now, in the darkness, it was hard to see anything but pain and misery.

He lay her down on her bed, lifting her glasses from her nose and folding them neatly closed. It wasn't a cold night but she shivered anyway so he pulled the blankets around her, wrapping her tightly against the chill.

He looked down at her, her bright blonde hair seemingly the only splash of color in the dark room. She’d dedicated herself so entirely to his cause. He hoped she'd take the million dollars he had transferred into her account and make a new life for herself. One without pain and death and bombs around her neck or guns pressed against her skin.

Her life would be better without him in it. Same as Thea and Diggle and Laurel. Same as Tommy’s would have been.

All of their lives would be better without him.

Oliver tucked the blankets in around Felicity one last time then retraced his steps, turning off the flickering television and checking to be sure her front door was securely locked.

Lian Yu was waiting for him. He would serve penance for them all, and Felicity and Diggle could return to a normal life, free of arrows and lists.

He could carry the weight. 

He would carry the weight.

And if that meant Felicity could sleep at night, could move on, could return to her normal IT girl life, well then that was enough.

For now.


	3. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we're in season two - only a year late. Apologies all.

The plane ride back felt a lot quicker than the trip out.

But then, when he'd made his way to Lian Yu he hadn't had the QC corporate jet at his disposal. He'd just walked into Starling City International and bought a ticket.

And there are no direct flights to purgatory.

He still can't quite believe that Felicity and Diggle jumped out of the plane to reach him. Especially as he looks at her now, passed out from exhaustion or adrenalin or both.

She looks so fragile.

Her first parachute and her first landmine in one morning. He'd be dead to the world too.

He turns his head from regarding Felicity, curled in a chair on the other side of the table to see Diggle eyeing him.

“She hasn't slept.” His former (and possibly current) bodyguard says.

“It was a rough journey,” Oliver says, “not like this.” He lifts his hands to gesture at the luxury around them.

“No,” Diggle corrects him, “she hasn't slept for weeks.”

Oliver's eyes flicks back to Felicity, out cold in the seat.

“Who has?” He says, trying to make light of it.

“She hasn't slept,” Diggle continues, “since you left.”

Oliver shifts in his seat. He knows there's something there beneath the words that Diggle is trying to get across to him, but the trauma of the Glades is still too recent. He can't shoulder anyone's burdens but his own. He doesn't have the strength. He thought he could carry the weight, let her move on, let them both move on but here they are, bringing him back and suddenly these shoulders of his can't take any weight but his own.

“Have you slept?” Oliver asks instead. If you can't deal, deflect.

“Some,” Diggle says, “but then, I got form.”

“You blew up a city before?”

“I failed before,” Diggle says evenly, “I know what it feels like to have to pick yourself back up. I'd have thought you'd know that too, but you ran.”

Oliver turns away.

“People died Digg,” and he feels every one of those deaths.

“People die everyday Oliver,” Digg replies, “you gonna take responsibility for all of them?”

“They're not all my fault!” He snaps.

Diggle looks at him for a long moment, then blows air out of his nose.

“I'm gonna go check with the pilot,” he says, “see how long before we hit American airspace.”

And then he's up and moving. Not fast but steady, and Oliver realises how perfect that word is for Diggle.

Steady.

He's the port in a storm.

The one secure thing in the universe.

Diggle closes the door to the cabin behind him and suddenly Oliver is left alone with Felicity.

Who is hardly a port in a storm at the best of times.

Even though she's asleep.

Peaceful.

Quiet.

Oliver watches as she breathes.

In and out.

Her breath displaces the few strands of hair loose from her ponytail.

In and out.

Her lips move slightly as she exhales.

In and out.

In and out.

And then he realises. Diggle may be the port in the storm and Felicity is all color, light and passion.

But that doesn't mean she can't be salvation.

She's just salvation in a different way.

Where Diggle is calm, Felicity is life. Chaotic, frantic, but centred.

Her own kind of peace.

Oliver rests his head against the wall of the plane and slowly, consciously, matches his breathing to Felicity's.

When Diggle comes back from the cockpit he doesn't say anything.

Oliver closes his eyes and sleeps. 

 


	4. Stoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times place post-Time of death in season two.

She’s stoned and he can’t just leave her like this. Sooner or later the drug will wear off and the pain of her wound will hit her and he wants to be there to offer drugs and support and care.

She'll always be his girl, after all.

Felicity snores softly on the other side of the back seat. Diggle drives, quietly moving through empty streets. Oliver tried to catch his eye in the mirror, but Diggle hasn’t looked back.

There are so many things to say, but speaking just seems wrong.

The only noise is the soft purr of the engine - and Felicity’s snores. 

He doesn't want any other noise to disturb her.

She deserves her rest.

Diggle pulls up outside Felicity’s place and Oliver is out the door and round to Felicity’s side of the car before his bodyguard can reach for the handle. He opens the door gingerly, bending down to scoop her into his arms. Felicity makes a soft fussing sound, then snuggles in against his shoulder.

He can smell her hair. 

It smells like lemons.

“Need a hand?” Diggle asks, but Oliver shakes his head.

“I've got her. You head home, I’ll sleep on the couch, make sure she’s okay.”

And even though opening her front door with both his hands full is a challenge, he never once regrets turning down Diggle’s help.

Felicity’s apartment is bright in the moonlight, so different from his last visit, when grief made everything monochrome.

He carries her into her bedroom, then sits down on the bed with her still in his arms.

He’s debating whether lying her down then taking off her jacket would be easier or the other way around when Felicity snuggles in, her lips suddenly pressed against his neck.

“Oliver?” She mumbles. He can feel the vibration of her words against his skin.

“Yes,” he says, “it's me.” He strokes her back, aiming for comfort, but suddenly the lips on his throat press down in a kiss.

“’Course it’s you,” she says, and he realises that she’s still completely out of it. The drugged equivalent of talking in her sleep. “You smell nice.” She adds and nuzzles his neck.

“Hey now,” he says, tilting her back in his arms, “you don't need to do that.”

Her eyes are glassy and half open.

“Wanted to see if you taste nice too,” she says, and smiles lazily.

“Well now you know,” he says, lying her down in the pillows and trying to ignore the fact he can still feel the skin tingling where her lips were before. She won't remember any of this. It would be wrong to take anything she says now seriously.

“I could know more,” she says and curls her fingers into the shoulder of his shirt.

For a tiny stoned hacker she has a hell of a grip.

She pulls him close before he even realises it, pulling him down to lean over her.

“I'm your girl,” she says happily and her hand moves from his shirt to stroke his face.

“Always,” he says, and catches her hand, moving it down to lay on the bed.

He intends to leave it there, but then her fingers intertwine with his and she’s curling on her side around their joined hands.

“Stay,” she says and her eyes close.

Well, he hadn't intended to leave her completely alone, but holding her hand in her bed wasn't quite what he had in mind.

Still, he can't deny he owes her this.

At least.

“I’ll stay,” he confirms and settles himself, leaning back against the headboard and trying to get comfortable. 

“Thank you Oliver,” she murmurs. “Love you.”

Oliver blinks and looks at her, but she’s out. In the second it took his mind to register her words, unconsciousness claimed her again.

She’s stoned, he tells himself, you can't listen to anything she says in this state.

She's impaired.

She'd be mortified to know that she said anything. Especially anything as blatantly untrue. It's like when he hangs up the phone to Thea or his Mom, that absent minded “Love ya” to sign off with.

It's not like that.

She doesn't love him like that.

She's his girl.

And that's it.

Even if her hand in his feels right, this is just about offering comfort. Supporting a team mate. A friend.

An injured friend.

But when he finally sleeps, his dreams are full of lemons and sunshine, instead of the usual demons and darkness. 

And he doesn't let go of her hand.


	5. Exhausted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For slowdancinginasundrenchedworld. Thank you sweetie.

He has nowhere to go. The mansion is lost, the lair discovered, his secondary secret base compromised. He may have saved the city, beating Slade and his army of Mirakuru warriors, but he has no bed to sleep in.

It's times like these, bruised, battered, exhausted times, when he misses the quiet of the island.

Felicity hasn’t spoken to him since he pressed a syringe into her hand and left her as bait for a madman, but it's not judgement that causes the silence between them.

This silence is caused by his words.

Oliver very deliberately does not allow himself to think about those words. He was baiting the hook for Slade, drawing out him nemesis. That was all.

It has to seem real for it to work.

And work it did.

But now Felicity isn't talking.

Slade is contained by Argus, John and Lyla already departed for what Oliver assumes will be a very enthusiastic night of reacquaintance, Roy slipped away almost as soon as the battle was done. Sara took Nyssa by the arm a few minutes ago and the two assassins walked away, hand in hand, smiling at each other like they weren't personally acquainted with death and mass murder.

But Felicity is still here.

He doesn't quite know what to say to her.

Frankly he’s said enough.

“Felicity -” he starts.

“No,” she says, crossing the floor in an instant and laying her hand on his arm, “no words. Come with me.”

She doesn't take his hand - that would be too forward he senses, somehow. Instead her palm hovers an inch or so above his lower back, urging him into the movement the same way he escorts her through formal events for QC. 

Escorted.

QC is gone now. Taken. Stolen.

He moves for Felicity and her hand drops down.

It never actually touched his back at all but he misses it anyway.

She escorts him around a corner, down an alleyway and into a parking lot.

Then she holds out her hand.

“Give me your phone.”

He complies, but she seems to want to explain anyway. “Slade took me but left my bag. I’ll have to go by your old place in the morning and pick it up, but for now-” her fingers tap on the screen. “Aha!”

Twenty feet away car headlights flash and the tell tale beep of a car alarm disabling as the doors unlock rings out.

“We have transport,” she grins.

He grins back.

He can't help it. Even when he's exhausted she's infectious.

* * *

He's surprised when they don't go to her place. Instead she taps on his phone a little more and then drives them towards the outskirts of town.

“Take your jacket off,” she says, “and the hood. You're wearing a black t-shirt, right? In this light the green will look darker, no one will notice so long as there’s no hood.”

She turns off just before they hit the freeway, turning into a chain motel. 

“If my program worked we’ll have a room on the first floor,” she says, “I’ll get the key.”

She’s back in minutes, walking along the dimly lit path swinging the key around her finger.

She stops at a door right in front of the car and gestures to him.

She has the door open before he’s halfway out of the car.

“There's a Target over the road,” she says, “I’ll go in the morning, get us some fresh clothes.”

He nods but he doesn't think she sees him.

“For now,” she says, “I want to shower and sleep.”

She points to the double bed nearest the bathroom, “That’s mine,” she says, then points to the other. “That's yours.”

He nods and goes immediately to sit on the edge of his bed.

His bones ache.

Felicity looks at him, a soft expression on her face.

“I’ll just be through here,” she says and he nods.

She closes the bathroom door behind her and a few minutes later he hears the sound of the shower.

Abstractly, a small part of his brain notes that she's only the second woman he’s not blood related to that he's ever said “I love you” to, and now she's naked within ten feet of him.

He tells that part of his brain to shut up and lies back on the bed.

He’s too tired to think about anything right now.

He closes his eyes for just a minute.

He’s resting them.

He opens them an instant later to see Felicity, hair damp from the shower, leaning over him, wrapped in a towel.

She's patting a blanket into place. Tucking him in.

“Shh,” she says, “go back to sleep. You’re safe now.”

He nods but he doesn’t close his eyes. Instead he watches through his eyelashes as she brushes her fingers through her hair in front of her mirror, making a face as they catch in some tangles.

She sits down on the far side of the bed from him, pushes the covers back and drops the towel. For half a second he sees pale skin, the full expanse of her back, and then she's wrapped in blankets.

He wonders whether he should have showered.

But he lacks the energy to even turn his head.

Felicity shifts in the bed, obviously trying to get comfy.

“Felicity,” he says, suddenly surprised at the sound of his own voice.

“Oliver?”

She turns to him, eyes concerned.

He reaches out a hand to her. She lifts her hand in response, a question on her face.

He brushes her fingertips against hers and then lets the hand drop.

“Just had to be sure it was you,” he says and closes his eyes.

“Sleep well, Oliver,” is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.

He does.


	6. Campbed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final part. Sorry about the delay.
> 
> Set post the midsession finale in season 3 and includes some spoilers based on speculation.

Even though he now has his own bed in his own room in the apartment Thea(’s father) bought, he still spends the occasional night in the campbed Felicity purchased for him in the summer after Slade.

He tells himself that it’s convenient. That he shouldn’t push himself to cross town after injury or exhaustion. Driving isn’t safe in that condition.

What he knows, somewhere, in the back of his mind is that that bed feels like home.

The basement is cold, the blankets are thin - summer weight and never replaced with the winter version - and the metal frame creaks, despite its newness.

And yet.

Sometimes he just wants to be back in that bed.

He remembers the day she arrived with it, huffing and puffing as she carried it down the stairs. 

He remembers her making it up, blankets and sheets.

He remembers the first night he slept there, the first night he didn’t feel the cold chill of concrete for weeks.

He felt as safe as he ever did.

And he never feels safe. 

He knows that it’s an illusion, as passing and fleeting as the moments when he thought he could be both Oliver Queen and the Arrow.

Still he never quite puts the bed away. It’s always there, tucked in a corner, just in case he needs it.

What he doesn’t expect - after Ra’s - is to find she needs it too.

He’s been back for over a week. Taken in the changes to the team - Laurel now on patrol in Sara’s wig, Roy ever more distant and determined, Diggle the calm and competent centre.

And Felicity.

She ran to him when he arrived, and he thought that yes, maybe this could happen.

Dying has a way of changing your priorities, after all.

And then she held herself back.

Was pleasant.

Happy to see him, but somehow just not…happy enough.

He found out about Palmer and the suit later.

So finding her here, in his bed, is a surprise.

He’d honestly thought she’d moved on.

He stands in the shadows and watches and she turns onto her back.

Her heels are neatly lined up beside the foot of the bed, and apart from those she looks to be fully dressed under the blankets.

She doesn’t seem comfortable.

She twists under the covers, sighs, and then, as if led by the sound of his thoughts, looks straight at him.

“You can come out,” she says, “loitering in the shadows watching me sleep is a little too Twilight for my tastes.”

Sheepishly, he steps forward into the light.

“I didn’t know you slept here.”

“I didn’t, I don’t,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbows. “My apartment is just…too quiet.”

He doesn’t say anything. He knows that feeling well enough.

“And my work on the new tracker went late,” she goes on, offering him the explanation he didn’t ask for, “and if I’m going to have to be at work in three hours I thought I could just nap here and go straight in. I keep a change of clothes in my office. And there’s a shower down the hall.”

“I remember,” he says.

“Of course you do,” she replies, “sorry.”

“Why?” He asks, “why are you sorry?”

“Reminding you I have your office now?” She says, “such a classy move. Not my intention.”

“I suspect,” he says softly, “that you fit there better than I ever did.”

She blinks at that. He can almost see the cogs turning behind her eyes.

“You were a good boss,” she says.

“I lost the company,” he replies, “they don’t give out bonuses for that.”

“You cared about the company,” she counters, “I mean, Ray does too but he cares about the city more. Not that you don’t care about the city, you’re its first defender. It would be silly to say you didn’t care. Wrong even.”

“Felicity,” he says, breaking her chain of thought with the habit of long practice.

“Thank you,” she says, “but anyway, I was just tired and I thought, yay nap, and then I couldn’t sleep and then you arrived, and here we are.”

“I don’t need a recap,” he says, “or an explanation. It’s not my bed anymore.”

“I bought it for you.”

“I have another.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I-” And he doesn’t have an answer. 

Felicity looks at him with her oh so perceptive gaze, and he doesn’t have an answer.

“I was passing?”

She snorts.

“It’s okay,” she says, “I miss it too. It was a nice moment, the summer.” She flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. “Nice moments aren’t meant to last.”

He looks away, feels his fists clench at his sides.

“I can’t talk about it,” he says, “not yet.”

“We live, we die, we sleep, we fight crime,” she says, “but we don’t talk.”

“Talking is the hardest part,” he admits.

“Isn’t it just?”

He lets out his breath in a sigh.

Yet again here they are, dancing around all the words said and not said.

“I’m tired,” he admits.

“Me too.”

“You should rest.”

“We both should.”

She looks at him, considering, then lifts the blankets.

“That’s a one person bed,” he says.

“Not if you stay close.”

She holds up her hand, preempting his objection.

“I am not offering anything more than sleep,” she says. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“I won’t fit on there with you.”

“Don’t make excuses,” she chides him. “Or are you scared?”

“Accusing me of being a coward won’t work.”

“Then get over here.”

He takes a step towards her then stops.

“This is a bad idea.”

Felicity sighs.

“Oliver. It’s after four. I’m cold. I want to sleep. And I won’t be able to get to sleep with you watching me. Or if you go now. I’ll just be replaying this entire conversation in my head, looking for what I did wrong. Just, just come here, lie down. Hold me. Sleep with me.”

She smiles at him, a little sadly. “Everything will be better in the morning.”

It’s the smile that does it.

“Okay,” he says, and cross the room to her.

He toes off his shoes and considers how best to get in.

It takes more than a few minutes of rearranging and reorganising, but finally they both fit on the tiny bed, her back pressed to his chest, one of his arms bent to support both their heads, the other wrapped around her middle.

It’s not exactly comfortable but it is comforting.

“Now sleep,” she says and closes her eyes.

Her hair tickles his nose, and the press of her body against his makes him almost too warm.

And yet, he can feel sleep pulling at the edge of his mind, and as he slows his breathing, and feels her do the same, he feels tension slip out of his muscles.

He feels peace.

“This is a one time thing,” she murmurs.

“No, it’s not,” he says, his lips so close to the skin of her neck he might as well be kissing her. “It’s a beginning.”

She shifts slightly but doesn’t answer. Maybe she just doesn’t want to argue with him but he decides to take it as agreement.

“Goodnight Felicity,” he says.

She breathes deeply and, just as he thinks she’s fallen asleep, she didn’t hear him -

“Goodnight Oliver.”

And they sleep.


End file.
